The adventures of Sherly and Johnny Boy
by deadash
Summary: When completely unconnected murders begin to pop up, the great Sherlock Holmes is left to sort through the mess, along side his fabulous assistant John Watson. This is basically my excuse to write a JohnLock fic. Rated T for gore and future lemons also please rate and review!


**The street lights whizzed as the black sudan rushed past, almost taking the lives of some oblivious pedestrians along with it. It dashed along the road, swerving as the tires screeched in protest. A faint smell of burning rubber filled the air, momentarily enveloping the entire block. Some on lookers watched in terror while others merely looked away, unconcerned with whatever was happening. It was almost midnight, only a few minutes till the new year celebrations began which meant that just like every year, the streets of London were crowded with drunk drivers, small accidents and intoxicated passengers. A sight to behold, yet completely normal amongst the city dwellers. **

This time though, it was different. Something seemed off, almost violent. The vehicle sped up, heading straight for a small electronics shop at the end of the street. One by one as more people began to realise that a collision was almost inevitable, gasps of horror filled the night sky. Some screamed, some ran, some ever tried to call the authorities but it was futile. This time of year was the busiest for hard working police officers of London which meant that their arrival would be too late.

With one last screech and a desperate attempt to turn, the car collided with a street light, toppling it instantly. But it didn't stop there. The trunk of the car smashed straight through the shop's window, sending shards of glass flying in all directions. The mangled Sudan wheezed its last few breaths before collapsing in on itself, finally haulted in between the footpath and devastated shop.

Seconds later a massive crowd began to form as those who had witnessed the wreckage pushed past each other, creating an impenetrable bubble of human voices. The only visible sign of the driver hung from the compressed car door. Bloody, bruised and drained of colour, the arm of a man swung back and forth slowly until finally it stopped moving at together.

"Come on Sherlock, everyone celebrates new years! Are you telling me that you have never counted down on new year's eve?" Watson asked, already knowing the answer. Asking Sherlock if he had taken part in any "normal" human tradition would be an utter waste of time and John was reminded of this every day of his life. Sherlock Holmes was nothing close to "a normal human" because there was nothing normal about him.

"Why would I count down the seconds till a new hour begins? Honestly John, what a primitive activity to take part in, must I stand after every fifty nine minutes, salute and count down until the clock assures me an hour has past?" Seated in his favourite chair, Sherlock held a few pages of the newspaper in front of him.

It didn't matter that the room was so dimly lit, he could barely read a word. As he spoke his eyes never diverted from the printed text before him. "But it isn't "just another hour" it's new year's eve." John protested, standing a few feet away, holding his black cardigan in one hand.

"It isn't in China." Said Sherlock, matter of factly. John knew he would not get anywhere if he carried on trying to convince Sherlock to once in his life do something other than...well, what he normally did. "Fine, ok, great. You sit here in this dark room, pretending to read that damn newspaper while I go out and for once, have a good time." Walking towards the door, John tugged on his coat before leaving the small apartment. Sighing as he heard the door click behind him. He made his way down the stairs, thanking the heavens that Mrs Hudson was out. He really didn't want to listen to her ramble on about Sherlock and his experiments and how he had almost set the kitchen on fire last week...again.

Finally when he was outside he felt something vibrating against his left pocket. Reaching into his coat he pulled out his phone. Only to sigh again, in exasperation as he saw who was calling. Raising the phone to his ear he rolled his eyes. "Change of heart?" "Never" Replied Sherlock, a hint of a smile in his voice. "but I'll be needing you to come back urgently, Lastrade just called and we have some work to do." "But its-fine I'm coming." As John hung up, he could feel his annoyance rising. 'two days, two days of the year of no murders is all I ask but no, I can't even get one.' He mumbled to himself, taking one last look at numbers "221B" plastered on the front door before walking back inside. As the climbed the stairs he looked down at his watch, thinking to himself. '3 2 1, happy new year John, it's gonna be a hell of a ride.'


End file.
